A quiet storm opens in my chest whenever your memory drifts close. The air changes, softening as though it remembers something my body has not yet spoken. I carry these tremors gently, afraid they might slip into the world uninvited. Still, they glow beneath my ribs like small, persistent lanterns.
There are moments when my thoughts refuse to behave, spilling into the shape of your name.
In those moments, the world holds its breath, as if listening for a secret I’ve tried to keep.
The sun feels warmer then, stretching across my skin like a promise I never knew I wanted.
Even silence becomes a companion, humming the truth I’m too shy to say aloud.
When night arrives, feelings rise like tides that refuse to settle.
They press against me, urging confession, urging courage, urging something new.
Every star seems to pause, waiting to hear what my heart is still learning.
Even the moon tilts closer, curious about the softness I keep hidden.
And so I gather every unspoken word and let them rest in the cradle of my chest.
They are tender, fragile, but beautifully alive.
If someday they find their way into the light, I hope they stand steady.
For in their quiet pulse lies the truest shape of what I feel.